Life Saving Measures
by sarahyellow
Summary: Justin is rendered hopelessly comatose after yet another life-altering accident. Doctors are forced to act drastically to save him. With his lover's damaged memory, strange new social circle, and downright bizarre biological changes to contend with, will Brian be able to bring them back to what they once had? Will Justin even want it?


In a stark painter's studio in Pittsburg at half-past four, Blue eyes were squinted down at the half-finished form of a canvas sketch. Justin Taylor, the man to whom the squint belonged, was considering his next move. Chalk in hand, he shifted forward decidedly for his next mark. But just as he was to make contact with the canvas, his hand seized up.

"Fuck!"

The utterance was perhaps not as annoyed as it might have been in a similar situation, months or even a year ago. Being bashed to the point of brain injury had been awful, but the young artist had eventually come to terms with his injuries, and how they affected his life. Tremors and spasms would come and go, but a canvas could sit in his studio for months, if it had to. If anything had taught Justin patience in his adult life, it had been meeting Lindsay's paraplegic friend.

A quick glance to the far left wall of his studio brought a clouded blue painting into the artist's view. The substantial gift could've been hung anywhere; Justin's apartment, Brian's loft, hell he'd even considered sending it over to grace the Liberty diner's walls. But in the end Justin had decided to keep it right there in the cold industrial room that he still bothered to rent for his workspace. The wheelchair-bound woman had spent eight whole months laboring on just that one painting, never quitting or losing her vision for the piece. It was a good reminder for Justin to keep on trying no matter what, and the blond man currently regarded it for that very purpose, as he patiently flexed and rubbed at the tendons of his hand.

"Fucking gimp hand," he muttered, scolding his limb as if it were a petulant child. The canvas he was sketching on now would merely be an outline for a larger project, but it was important to him none the less. After Stockwell had been defeated in Pittsburg's Mayoral election, later candidates for various local offices had gotten word of Justin's posters. Back then, they had been a form of protest to the young man, even gotten the one he loved into quite a bit of trouble. But now people wanted to pay him for his services. He had a bold talent for conceptualizing and conveying strong messages about people and their platforms. Or at least that's what they'd told him when he'd agreed to produce the artwork for several new political campaigns. The men (and one woman) who'd wanted Justin's help had been pro-gay, liberal types, which was of course why he'd agreed to the projects in the first place.

Well, that and the money. This particular project would hopefully gain him a sizeable commission from the PR department of the city council, an account that he knew for a fact he had competition for. The reality that he—a lone artist—was competing against established advertising firms was quite a boon for the young talent. Due to some very lucky and very flattering exposure in the media, making a living wasn't as hard for Justin Taylor as it could have been. But big corporate projects were always helpful in putting a little extra padding into his bank account. Smirking to himself, Justin knew that Brian wouldn't be quite so thrilled to know just which corporate clients he was courting.

Quitting art school was no longer a regret to the artist, his new career having flourished just enough to be busy. But busy as he was, due to the late afternoon hour and to his spazzed-out hand, Justin made the decision to stop for the day. Placing the chalk piece he'd been using aside, he walked over to the wall of big windows—the room's main attractive feature—and pulled a flavored water from the mini fridge he'd installed there.

Smiling ruefully, he pulled the cap off his drink and thought of Brian. He was the one who'd finally gotten Justin to give up sodas in favor of zero-calorie vitamin water. Of course, Brian was always in favor of low-calorie things. That was also why the artist's mini fridge was full to bursting with green apples. Like so many little things in his life, it was all because of Brian. Walking thoughtfully over to the beaten up couch he kept in the studio for moments just such as this, Justin sunk into its inviting cushions and caught the gaze of the easel nearest by. It held his most recent depiction of the man with whom he'd been obsessed since he was seventeen.

A quarter profile of Brian's face stared back out at him from the paper, nowhere near completed. It was a rendering in oil pastels—a medium in which the blond rarely chose to work—and for that it would turn out to have less of a literal feel and more of an idealized, dream-like quality to it. …Once it was ever finished, that was. Justin had never been stuck with a work of art for so long before, not even due to his hand. No, staring obstinately at his very blurry boyfriend, Justin knew that this hang-up spawned from somewhere else, but the hell if he knew how to get back on track with the project. Besides, this one was just for fun; he'd never sell it.

Justin drank his water and wondered whether it would creep his older lover out, to know just how many drawings and paintings he'd been the subject of since their first meeting years ago. The artist himself had pretty much lost count. "The face of God," as he'd once referred to it, was a subject that begged to be rendered in art, and Justin had obliged dozens, maybe hundreds of times. Yeah he thought, obsessive was probably a good word for his feelings about the other man. "Brian, Brian," he mused solemnly at the easel, "Why can't I remember you?" Of course, what the young man meant was in reference to his original vision for the drawing. Not being able to finish the thing was insanely frustrating; like waking up from a dream that one could almost, but just not quite, remember.

Drawing him out of his contemplative state, the peppy tones of Katy Perry's _Hot 'N Cold_ emanated from Justin's cellphone, making him smile. He'd recently updated his boyfriend's ringtone to a tune that more aptly described him. He quickly tapped the screen, accepting the call. "You know," Justin greeted happily into the phone, "I was just thinking about you."

On the other end of the line, Brian could be heard typing, so the younger of the duo figured his obsession to still be at work. "Does that make me your muse?" he quipped.

From the couch, Justin gave a heavy-lidded glance back to the oil pastel version of said man. "You have no idea."

"Nice to know I'm on your thoughts," Brian replied distractedly. "Hey, I'm in a rush to finish some things up here. _Some _people don't seem to understand that Friday means ditching work at three-thirty, and thus I have a four o'clock meeting."

"Who's 'some people'?"

"The campaign manager for this goody do-all politician Howard Van Dorn."

Justin bit his lip at the name. Oh no. Was Brian trying to get the same gig with Van Dorn as he was? Somehow, the thought both scared and amused him. A little competition never hurt anyone. The blond grinned. If he won, it would bruise Brian's ego. Badly. "Sounds like big business. You must be very busy."

"Yeah."

"So why'd you call me in the first place?"

A huff crackled over the line, which the blond interpreted as one of Brian's low chuckles. "Because," Brian simpered, "A very special boy is celebrating his birthday today, and he was in too big of a hurry this morning to decide what he wanted for his big day. Now, how old is the kiddo today?"

"I'd say eight, based on that awful fake voice you're using," Justin winced. "Cut it out. Like it's not creepy enough already how old you are, pervert." The last utterance was heavily colored with the highest degree of fondness. The twelve year age difference between the two men had long ago become familiar fodder for both jokes and sweet nothings.

Dropping the infantilizing tone, Brian asked, "Seriously though: you only turn twenty one once. What do you want for your birthday? And you are coming to Babylon tonight."

"I'll pretend that last was a question," Justin frowned. "Yes, I'll see you at Babylon tonight. And as to my gift; I really hadn't thought about it."

"Really?" Brian sounded unconvinced.

"Yes, really."

That was a big fat lie, because really, he had thought about it. Anything the slightest bit romantic, from Brian, would have made the most perfect birthday gift the blond could hope for. But it was more than he could hope for and he knew it. Wedding rings and matching tuxes were nice in theory, but such gestures just weren't the older man's style, nor in his comfort zone. Justin knew that Brian downright loved him any day of the week, but the fact was that he'd only heard it uttered verbatim one time. And having the man's affections was the more important thing anyways.

Smiling into the phone again, Justin offered, "You can get me anything. Flowers or an iPad would be nice. But Brian: NOT a twinkie trick, okay?" The darker-haired man had been known to think along more lascivious lines when it came to the gift-giving process.

"How about a brutal beefy one then?"

"No tricks," Justin reiterated, trying and failing to maintain his tone of admonishment. "Besides, it's my twenty first birthday tonight. After I get appropriately drunk and dizzy at Babylon, the only guy I'm going to want to take home and fuck is you."

"Sounds like a plan. See you at ten, hot stuff."

"Ugh, don't call me that."

His phone call ended, Brian smirked at the thought of the birthday fuck Justin had coming his way. Heat swept through him at the thought of all the things he could do. Oh my, what to do indeed. With the exception of perhaps his parenting skills, Brian Kinney had no problems with confidence in any area of his life, _especially_ when it came to sex. As far as the promiscuous ad exec was concerned, he gave it better than most, and was on par with all the rest. Oh yes, the coming evening at Babylon, and later, would be one to enjoy.

Fantasizing in the pristine space of his office, Brian had to admit that he sometimes felt uncommonly bereft of Justin at work. Kinnetic, as a company and as a building, was an extension of Brian himself: powerful, stylish, and cold. The metal, glass, and Italian leather furniture suited Brian just fine most of the time. It had only been since last Christmas, that he'd added a single trace of Justin to the space.

Glancing down to the corner of his sleek desktop, the dark-haired man regarded Justin's picture with uncharacteristic warmth in his eyes. The painted wooden box clashed atrociously with the sophisticated décor everywhere else, but like the little fucker himself, Justin's picture frame had wormed its way into a place that it never should have gotten. The frame contained a single snapshot of the younger man. It was nothing special; some sloppily taken picture of Justin sitting in Michael and Ben's living room. But Brian kept it in the frame, on his desk, allowing it to interrupt the pristine sight lines of Kinnetic's décor, because of the hundred-watt smile that split Justin's face in the picture. It was why Debbie always called the kid Sunshine. And Brian had found that, despite everything, the accomplishment of making that particular smile appear on the younger man's face was quickly becoming his favorite thing in the world.

Well, at least except for fucking, that was. Brain's thoughts began to harken back to his earlier contemplation of birthday sex, and just what activities he'd be getting up to that very night. If tricks wrapped up in red bows were out as a gift option, were sex toys as well? But a knock on the glass of his office door interrupted those thoughts, pulling him back to the reality of the last hour of his work day.

The man who entered his office was tall and well-groomed. He looked like he'd maybe been hot stuff in college, but had let himself slip a little since then. Walter Frey's suit was definitely too tight around the middle. Brian concluded right away that he never would have fucked him. The cute nerdy aide by his side however… could have been a possibility. Unfortunately, the ad exec had a birthday fuck to dole out, but if he did land this account—and he did plan to—there would always be time for that later. Brian stood with his most pleasant nod of greeting, inclining his head politely. "Please, feel free to sit."

The campaign manager, Mr. Frey, smiled tightly. "Thank you Mr. Kinney, but we are actually on quite a tight schedule, so if this can be a brief meeting, that would suit us."

Brian might have restrained a small frown, instead sending out his most nonchalant smile. "Of course, I'd prefer that as well. So tell me: what did you think of our art department's pitch this afternoon?"

"It was quite the pitch. You've got good talent here, I'll say that much."

Brian squinted, canting his head, "I get the feeling there's more you'll say?"

"We've seen better work, better concepts for what we want." Frey shrugged, holding out his hands placatingly, "You've got to understand that we'd shop around."

"Of course." Now Brian was very much restraining a frown. "But I know my employees. More importantly I know me. I don't know where else you've 'shopped around,' but I do know that every other firm in town is old school. And if there's one thing your boss doesn't want, it's to be perceived as some crusty old politician. Kinnetic turns out results. If I'm not mistaken, politicians are generally in the business of getting… results."

The man before Brian seemed not to be offended, but rather impressed by the dark-haired man's impassioned speech. Brian Kinney's reputation had indeed preceded him, but he also lived up to it. It was almost a shame then, that he'd already made up his mind. "Right, and we do appreciate your time and your employees' effort at such a novel approach. Perhaps in the future we can work together, but for now we've decided to go elsewhere. I'm sure you can understand."

God damn it. Brian felt the edge of his desk cutting harshly into his palms before he'd even realized how tightly he was gripping it. If fucking Gardner Vance had scooped up Van Dorn's account before Kinnetic, it was really going to piss Brian off. Sure that his displeasure at the announcement had been appropriately contained, the outwardly-composed man queried, "Well that's too bad Walter. I have to wonder though: what amazing talent have you come across that has you so fascinated?"

The answer that Frey offered was frank, and probably the last thing that Brian had ever expected to hear. "I see," he said, not so sure anymore whether he was projecting a composed demeanor. "Well that's a real shame. I know we could've done you one better. But Cynthia will see you out."

The two men left graciously, and Brian didn't waste time in growling out his frustration once the office doors were closed. That. Little. Fucker. Justin had gotten his hands into politics.

"Block!"

"Ah!"

"There goes your eyeball. Now I've only got one more to go till you're blind. Work on that right arm Taylor. You're letting me right in."

"Got it. Let me duck out for a second."

The man teaching the class nodded, turning to the next man waiting for a fight, and Justin took his moment to walk away to the side of the expansive room. Plucking the guard from his teeth, he was quick to grab a towel and press it to his forehead. Jeeze, the blond thought, winded; was he off his game tonight or was Kai really that much better than usual?

After work Justin had headed to the not-so-gentrified east side of the city where he took Krav Maga classes twice a week. The workouts were always intense: so intense that he sometimes left bruised and/or bleeding. But to the blond, it was well worth it. After having faced an attack that left him helpless in so many ways, Justin had resolved never to feel defenseless again. Being on the mat with his teacher gave him power. And that was intoxicating enough to drown out the pain from his injuries.

That night, Justin was learning that no reprieve was given to anyone based on the merit of their birth date. An especially brutal class had now left him sweaty and a little bloody, but in an exceptionally good mood. As he sat to the side and gulped his water, he suddenly remembered that he was turning twenty one, and would soon see Brian and the guys to celebrate. With all of the endorphins rushing through his system, suddenly the upcoming evening seemed much more exciting. Justin's mind began to wander to all of the great birthday sex he would most definitely be getting. That wasn't to say that he and Brian didn't always have great sex—because they did—but still, birthdays were always extra special. Brian had a way of seeing to that. The class instructor, Kai, came over to join him just as a smile had split his face.

"What's so funny?" Kai asked with a grin of his own.

Justin shrugged apologetically, still catching his breath from the last hour of training. "Funny? Nothing. Was I laughing?"

"No, but you sure look pleased about something."

Justin simply smiled at the other man, refraining from commenting on just what hot piece of ass he _had_ been thinking about. Justin liked Kai. He was a young, down-to-earth type of guy Asian guy with the absolute coolest hair style. Straight, but with no bones to pick regarding his student's orientation. He treated the blond the same as everyone else. Justin liked that about him. From the very beginning, Kai had seen to it that nobody ever tried to act like Justin was the bashed little fag who'd come to learn some moves (which was, in reality, how he'd felt when he'd first walked in the doors). And now, two years later, the blond knew that he was quite an accomplished fighter. Maybe not as good as Kai himself, but getting better every month. It was something that the artist took great pride in.

Sometimes, Justin wondered if Cody would have approved. Maybe the angry man would have turned out differently if he'd chosen to learn some sort of disciplined violence… Sighing, Justin shook his head. Water that'd beaded along his hairline flew away, and he stood. "Really good class Kai, but you kicked my ass out there." Well, more like his forehead, if he was being literal… "How's my face?"

"Ah it looks fine now. Your throws are spot-on tonight. You know you're one of my better students now."

"Think I could take you?"

The other man looked taken aback, but considerate. "You know. Just maybe. You could certainly start teaching, if you go much farther."

Justin grinned. "Cool." After all, he hadn't gotten a tattoo—the symbol for the discipline—for nothing. Its black lines inked the skin of his inner forearm. Ruefully, he thought that he still had to try and get Brian to stop being upset about that.

"See you next class?"

Justin nodded. "Yeah. I have to head out early though. It is a Friday after all," he said apologetically.

Seemingly understanding, the other man hummed. "Ah yes, Friday. Babylon waits."

"As always."

"You know I should trail after you one day. The way you guys flock to that place, there must be something to it."

Justin just rolled his eyes. Gathering his backpack to leave, he responded, "Yeah, endless juicy man-ass. Come along sometime, if you're interested."

"On second thought, I'll leave the fun to you. Happy birthday Justin."

"Thanks!"

"Where's Justin tonight?"

"Yeah, why does the birthday boy not grace us with his presence? He must do _something_ to keep that body taught—"

"And toned," Emmett added.

" Tight."

"Firm..." Both men trailed off, their meaning clear.

A withering look was sent over to Ted and Emmett from where Brian was poised on the elliptical. "He prefers to get his cardio kicked out of him these days."

"Still doing the Karate thing?" Emmett asked.

"Krav Maga."

Honeycut waved a dismissive hand at Ted, "Oh whatever it's called. Break dance fighting, kung fu." Looking to Brian, he warned, "You know you should make him stop, sweetie. That's no good."

Brian rolled his eyes. "You think I haven't tried? The little twat's made up his mind to do it. He's probably a fucking black belt by now."

"Um Bri, I don't think they give out belts—" Another unpleasant look from his domineering friend had Ted sealing his lips.

"I want you all at Babylon tonight. Justin's got his surprise party and by some miracle, none of you have blown it yet." Hopping off the cardio equipment, Brian grabbed his towel. "And DON'T answer your phones if he calls you before then." Why the hell he would, Brian couldn't imagine, but he'd gone through too much trouble to make tonight special for any of his dimwit friends to fuck it up.

"Hey, we can keep a secret, you know!" this protest, from Emmett.

The queen received an arched brow from Brian. "Tell that to Michael." Emmett blushed and hopped off of his own elliptical, huffing away. The departure having cleared a line of sight to the free weights area, Brian's gaze settled on a very interesting specimen. "Well would you look at that?" He said to no one in particular. Sweat towel unceremoniously tossed at Ted, the dark-haired man made his way across the room to where a nicely-built Latino was currently doing handstand pushups by the wall.

"Hey," Brian greeted.

Dark brown eyes slid over to meet hazel ones. "Hey."

"You know, I'm not usually the type of fag to go around the gym complaining, but you're being an awful showoff over here. Someone might get… bothered"

The other man grimaced, what Brian estimated to be an upside down smile of exertion. "Yeah?"

"Hm," Brian said stridently, "You don't talk much." Crouching before the darker man, he canted his head to mimic the other man's upside down posture. "I can do a pretty nice handstand too you know."

"Really?"

"I'm a regular ath-e-lete."

The fit man sunk down and rose back up in another push-up, his heels tapping the wall for balance. "I'd like to see that."

"Oh, I'd be happy to give a demonstration of my physical aptitude." Mentally, Brian calculated that he definitely had enough time for a quickie in the locker room. "My handstands are the least of my abilities."

"You've got that right." A hand wrapped itself around the fabric of Brian's racerback, pulling him upright. Ted's voice sounded again to address the handsome Latino man, "His handstands suck. Excuse us."

The accountant didn't get very far with bullying Brian Kinney away from his conquest. The taller man jerked angrily away as they tracked into the locker room. "What the hell's up with you, Schmidt? I was going to fuck that guy upside down!"

"I think you should be more careful who you offer to do acrobatics with, Lothario."

"I didn't see anyone better out there. He was hot," Brian grumped.

"Yeah well he was also a vampire."

Stripping off his gym shorts, Brian paused. "_What_?"

"A Vamp—"

"No yeah, I heard what you said," Brian bristled. "He wasn't. No way."

"If you could think with anything besides your cock, you might have noticed."

Scoffing, the dark-haired man went off into the showers. Okay, so maybe missing something that big was a little bad, even for him. Whatever, he thought. What harm was a little fang-banging anyways. Better vampirism than chlamydia, or HIV. The former you couldn't catch fucking. Or at least… he was pretty sure you couldn't.

"A queer vampire," Brian mused. "Now there's a novelty." In the tiny tiled box of a shower, he reached for the spigot, turning the handle to hot and releasing a torrent of steaming water. "I'll have to tell Justin about that one."


End file.
